Page 92 of Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?
‘Slaggy Maggie.’
The man opposite is even more confused now. It really does look like I’ve taken this reprobate under my wing as part of some community project. I peer over Lucy’s shoulder as she trawls through lengths of Snapchat messages, where she appears to be chatting to someone called D’Shaun.
Lucy and I used to go out a lot, pre-Joe. She was the sort whose evening would start at eleven and Will and I, like sheep, would get sucked in. Eight hours later, we’d be eating bagels and watching the sun come up over Stoke Newington. I want to say I miss those days, but really I think all I might miss are the bagels. With salt beef, pickles, dripping in mustard. I could totally be down with that tonight.
‘Hey. After we’re done, I could get us into a club in Mayfair?’ she says.
‘Posh.’
‘I mean there’s a bit of an S&M vibe but you don’t have to partake.’
I give Lucy a strange look. So we go to a bar in trainers, sit and have a G&T while we watch rich people get teased, blindfolded and shagged? ‘I’m good. How do you know about this club?’ I reply.
‘I worked there for a bit.’
I raise my eyebrows at her.
‘I expect that sort of response from Emma but not from you,’ she says. ‘It was bar work, you mucky thing. I saw some stuff though. It’s a lot of fun watching old men show up in their stained Y-fronts sitting in cages with their leather masks.’
I’m pretty sure if I wanted to do that, I could just log onto Pornhub and drink from the comfort of my own sofa.
‘Speaking of which… Have you had a ménage à moi yet?’
I love how Lucy says this so casually as we sit on the District Line. If I didn’t know what that meant, she also does a strange action like she’s mixing at imaginary decks.
‘Ummm…’
‘I’ll take that as a no.’ She looks unimpressed with me. ‘I’m disappointed with you, Beth. I thought sexually, you and me had something in common. We had to literally push Emma into having sex again. You used to be quite open about these things.’
‘Are you calling me frigid?’
‘I’m saying that when I’m feeling shit about life, I have a wank and I feel better. It’s finding joy in small things.’
‘I don’t reckon your bits are that small anymore.’
She pushes me in my seat. ‘Ha. Ha. Ha. I haven’t had a baby come through mine yet. Yours must be a like a wizard’s sleeve.’ The insult comes with more actions. ‘At least you haven’t lost your sense of humour. You are all awful to me, it’s because you’re so jealous.’
I’ll admit there are shades of truth there in her words. We’d all like to be a little more Lucy.
‘It’s because you’re perfect.’
She hooks her arm into mine, sensing no sarcasm in my tone.
‘There’s no such thing, you know that, right? Even I have my things.’
‘What? A scar on your leg from when you fell off the shed?’ I joke.
‘I’m coarse, flighty, desperate for attention, immature and I’ve worn so many wigs for work that I have really bad scalp psoriasis.’
To prove a point, she takes off her beanie and shows me lines of red patches and flakes on her head. A couple on a date next to us look at us strangely.
‘Luce. That looks sore. What are you putting on that?’
‘Olive oil. Emma keeps telling me it’s scalp herpes and I keep telling her she’s a bitch.’ She puts her hat back on and then cups her hands around my face.
‘Perfect is boring. Now do I need to get you a vibrator for Christmas?’
I laugh and shake my head. I have one of those somewhere but I may need to dust it off and replace the batteries.
